


In Extremis

by ventusproximus



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Everybody Lives, Internal Conflict, M/M, Manipulation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Relationship(s), Sadism, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Toxic Relationships, shadowplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 21:49:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28892412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ventusproximus/pseuds/ventusproximus
Summary: In typical Autobot medic fashion, Ratchet makes a sacrifice for the good of others. What he doesn't realize, though, is how many more he'll be forced to make now that his choice has been made.Pharma can't wait to see him make them.Tarn wonders how long it'll take before someone loses a head.
Relationships: Ambulon & First Aid (Transformers), Pharma/Ratchet (Transformers), Pharma/Tarn (Transformers)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A sort of "what if" that alters the events of MTMTE #19. Not really a true fix-it fic, since things can probably only get worse from here. Expect a decent amount of creative liberty.
> 
> Thanks once again to my lovely proofreader.

Delphi… If there were a greater hellhole in the galaxy, Ratchet was blissfully unaware of it. Or maybe the worst hellhole of all was where he was right now. Then again, if it weren’t for Delphi, he wouldn’t be here right now, gambling with his life. If he got out of this intact (and the odds weren’t looking particularly favorable), he resolved, he’d repress that name and keep it in the very back of his brain module for a long,  _ long  _ time. He might even go so far as to remove it from his memories altogether, if it meant he’d get a few decent nights of recharging out of the deal.

All things considered, it could have gone far, far worse for him. He had the benefit of being back in his body, though only after untold hours of being toyed with —both online and offline . The dull, nagging pain running along his spinal strut still lingered. If he could get past the Legislators, he might be able to reach the nervecircuit anesthetics in the cabinet behind them…

“Oh, Ratchet. It isn’t like you to get lost in thought like that. Especially not with innocent lives on the line.” That single voice in the room was pulling him back to reality, as much as he wished it wouldn’t. 

“Please,” Pharma continued, “It won’t be any good if you stand there and disassociate while I dismember these two. I want you to see every moment, to be fully immersed in the here and now. I want your spark to become utterly erratic when you see how much I outclass you as a doctor.” The leaner medic was currently standing mere inches from Ambulon’s incapacitated form, running a finger along the edge of his chainsaw. 

“Let’s say I’m already aware of that little fact,” Ratchet shot back, forcing his legs to bring him closer. “What then? Do they go free?”

Pharma’s smile was disquieting. It always was, these days. “Then I’d say you’re an even worse liar than I’d originally taken you for. But, I’m not going to let you distract me from our contest. You either play, or I make a brief call and kill everyone you’ve ever loved onboard that ship.” 

Within seconds, the Chief Medical Officer of Delphi had likely come up with hundreds of potential incisions, hundreds of ways he could turn Ambulon into nothing more than a puzzle for Ratchet to cobble together. By that same token, there were likely hundreds of different looks of terror First Aid could paint onto his face in response to what he was about to witness — what they were  _ all  _ about to witness — in this Primus-forsaken lab on a desolate moon. 

Not that Ratchet ever put an ounce of faith in Primus to begin with. Prayers were useless against the steady drone of Pharma’s revving chainsaw. So instead he pushed on, forcing his legs to take step after step, gaining momentum. On and on, crossing the room, until his pace unfolded into a run, and he found himself diving and colliding with Pharma’s torso. The two of them clattered into the side of one of the operating tables, causing tools to fly in every direction. He felt metal beneath his hands, and without thinking, he shifted his weight into it. The body part — whatever it was — slowly gave way, bending at a torturously slow pace before completely snapping off. He was too focused on the two bottomless pits which Pharma called optics to care. 

Pink sprayed the floor around them as the blade bit into Ratchet’s shoulder. Compared to what he’d felt only hours ago, it barely registered in his receptors. Whatever metal hadn’t broken off under his force, he took hold of and tore off. His adversary’s hoarse screams told him it was something important. Important enough to give Ratchet just enough time to wrench his arm upward and press the flat end of Pharma’s chainsaw flush against his neck. One false move, and the delicate cords keeping his head attached would begin to litter the floor. 

But his adversary knew this, and had the good sense to shut it off before either of them could lose a head. Somewhere behind them, Ratchet could hear First Aid stifle a gasp. The poor bot was probably doing his best to keep Pharma from remembering that he existed.

“Maybe it was a lie,” Ratchet said, hastily attempting to direct his circuitry away from the massive gash in his arm. “It’s the lie you’ve always wanted to hear. You can take my spark, but leave the two of them alone.” 

Pharma’s optics were dark and wide with conflict, but his smile remained. Rather than try to fend his former associate off, he merely laid there, chainsaw soaked, no doubt reading every last one of Ratchet’s movements. Looking down, Ratchet saw a chunk of armor missing from Pharma’s hip, and bits of white plating not too far from where it had once been. The slimmer mech ignored it and responded. 

“Still an idealist after all this time, hmm? Some things really never — ” 

“Listen to me, Pharma. I’ll die in this room before I let you take another life today. I’ll die remembering you as that brilliant, young, forged doctor who made a name for himself at the Facility. But what I won’t do is continue to live with the fact that you’ve been reduced to slaughtering patients and running errands for murderers. You, the bot I nearly asked to be my con — ” 

It was Pharma’s turn to cut him off, now. “ _ Shut up _ ,” he hissed. “You can attempt to abandon our game, but if you think you can get sentimental on me, you’re…” Something flashed over his face. Ratchet didn’t bother guessing the emotion. “No. No, I think I’ll open myself up to negotiation after all.” Nonchalantly, he ran the flat edge of his chainsaw against Ratchet’s wound, perhaps watching the energon catch the light. It felt like ages before he transformed it back into a hand, yet he kept it squarely on the other medic’s shoulder. 

“If I see that chainsaw again, I’ll be using it to hack your legs off. And then I’ll watch you crawl to retrieve them.”

“There’s a way we can get away from all this, you and I. We can forget all about the universal killswitch. I’ll even forget that those hands you have belong to  _ me _ ,” Pharma continued, tone frantic. “Just you and me, off this moon, away from that damned ship of yours.” 

“First Aid and Ambulon go free, untouched,” Ratchet pressed. 

“They go free. None of your friends and associates will come to any harm — not from me, anyway. And do you know why, Ratchet? Because you’ll be with me every step of the way.” Shoving the arm he’d been idly holding, he added, “You’re welcome to get off me at any time, by the way.” 

Ratchet slowly rose, feeling numb. Somehow, he’d diffused the situation. And somehow, things felt more dangerous than before. Almost without thinking, he offered the prone medic a hand. Pharma took it with a fair amount of force and hoisted himself up. 

“Thank you.” Ratchet felt a twitch in his circuitry upon hearing the other bot express gratitude. The sincerity, or lack thereof, didn’t matter. “Now, about these two…” 

The two junior medics remained perfectly still in the Legislators’ grip, no doubt wondering what Pharma had planned for them next. Ratchet looked sympathetically at Ambulon, who numbly returned his gaze. 

“Always the pacifist,” Ambulon said, without humor. For the briefest of moments, he tested his strength against the Legislators’ grip. It got him nowhere.

Without warning, a  _ ssshhhk _ filled the room and every bot inclined their head toward its source. Pharma’s right hand had transformed itself yet again, this time into something that made Ratchet shudder. He opened his mouth to cry out, but Pharma cut him off as perfectly as if their exchange had been scripted. 

“Come now, surely you didn’t think I’d be able to let them go free  _ completely untouched _ , did you? I can’t cover our escape unless I do a bit of work first,” Pharma sighed. Mnemosurgeon’s needles adorned each of his fingers, which were currently tapping the surface of First Aid’s face shield. He had to hold the masked bot down with his free hand to keep him from trembling. 

“You’ll kill them,” Ratchet cried, “Or yourself, in the process. Mnemosurgery takes training, and even then — ” But Pharma was already prodding away at First Aid’s head. The mech in question was stretching his neck as far as it would go, trying to avoid the contact. But he had no means of escape. First Aid’s head was already unceremoniously being popped open, exposing the little gray sphere within. 

All the while, Ratchet wondered how his collaborator was going to explain the Legislators restraining them if they survived the surgery. As if on cue, Pharma piped up and answered his unspoken question. 

“I’ll dismiss the heavies once I’m done, naturally. I couldn’t trust these two not to struggle while I wipe this little episode from their brain modules.” He paused. “Let’s just say that my new connections have afforded me many educational opportunities that I may never have had otherwise.” Pharma flashed Ratchet a sneer. “If you want us to get out of here before your crew arrives and paints the place with our energon, I suggest you help me and take them offline.” 

Ratchet did as he was told, but begrudgingly. He felt disgusting, serving as an accomplice to what was essentially shadowplay. He was practically delivering them into Pharma’s hands now, and their chances of surviving this operation were much lower than he’d liked. But at least they  _ had  _ a chance, he reminded himself. Stepping over to the counter, Ratchet searched the racks for the right ampoule. It was less than ethical, but when administered, the solution sent the patient into an involuntary recharge cycle. He grabbed it, and the antagonistic serum that sat beside it.

Under Pharma’s gaze, he filled two syringes with the clear, pale blue liquid. He approached First Aid to start, still in the clutches of his former colleague. He forced himself to look into the younger mech’s visor before sinking the needle deep into his fuel circuits. 

“I’m sorry,” Ratchet said, in a whisper. 

“What difference does it make?” Pharma snapped. “Even if I put him through the most excruciating pain of his life, he won’t remember a second of it.” 

First Aid moved, as if to respond to one or both of them, then suddenly fell limp in the Legislator’s arms. The bright blue of his optics dimmed in a way that made Ratchet’s fuel pump lurch. 

“Lay him down over there, then leave,” Pharma ordered the Legislator, pointing to the operating table nearest to him. “Ratchet, I think I can trust you with the task of taking Ambulon offline. And if you’ll excuse me for just a moment…” 

He closed his needles around First Aid’s brain module and sunk them in. For several much-too-long moments Pharma was silent, completely focused on his work. No sooner than Ratchet had taken Ambulon offline and ensured he’d been (gently) set down on the spare operating table, the Legislators made for the door. They left without a word, and Ratchet couldn’t have cared less where they were off to. But if he had cared, he’d have hoped it would be at the receiving end of Drift’s sword. Or Cyclonus’ sword. Or anyone else’s gun. Between the mnemosurgery, his own complicitness, and the uncertainty of his crew’s safety, he couldn’t help but stand by the door, shut his optics and pretend he was anywhere but here. 

“Done,” Pharma said simply, his voice accompanied by the popping and shifting of manipulated metal. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes since he’d begun.

Ratchet struggled to get his vocal processor to cooperate with him. “Do you… Feel alright?” He was too exhausted to make threats.

“I’m fine. All I did was erase his memories of Delphi — and of recent events, of course. In a few moments more, I’ll have both of them in perfect working order.” With that, the room was silent again, save for the whirring of medical equipment and the sound of Pharma tampering with Ambulon’s mind. Ratchet could only assume that his former friend was being true to his word, as his tone was completely serious. It lacked the usual smugness, that subtle maddened edge. 

Ratchet kept his optics shut very, very tightly. 

“We can forget all about Delphi too, you know. And I wouldn’t have to lay a finger on our brains,” Pharma mused. Ratchet said nothing. When the lack of a response wasn’t enough to please the medic, he came closer, placing a hand (markedly free of needles) on one of Ratchet’s own. 

“There’s no need to guard the door, Ratchet. First Aid and Ambulon are fine.” The sudden tenderness of Pharma’s voice was enough to make his optics fly open. The pair were laying on their respective operating tables, with their heads intact and placed correctly on their shoulders. Pharma had already taken the liberty of administering the antagonist; they were stirring and gradually coming to their senses. Ratchet was being urged away from where he was standing and back toward them. The unsettlingly tight grip of Pharma’s hand told him that he was expected to play along.

Ambulon, in a daze, noticed First Aid beside him and instinctively took the red bot’s hand. Before either of them could form a complete sentence, let alone figure out where they might be, Pharma spoke. 

“Shhh, easy, you two are fine now,” Pharma said. “You were being overwhelmed by the Legislators, but a few of the crew found you and brought you to us. The injuries weren’t too severe, but we took you offline for the sake of comfort.”

First Aid’s voice rattled from within his processor. The glow from his visor was duller than Ratchet would’ve liked. “Where’s ‘here’? This doesn’t look like the  _ Lost Light  _ medibay…” 

Ratchet cut in, knowing he’d arouse suspicion if he stayed silent. “The entire ship was under siege, so we had to set up base here on Luna 1. We’ve kept comms open with the rest of the crew and you’ll be back onboard the ship as soon as the situation’s under control.” Pausing for emphasis, he added, “Last I tuned in, things were better than before.” He hated how vague he sounded, but the last thing they needed was to make the situation more precarious.

“Can you stand?” Pharma asked. 

Ambulon rose before giving First Aid a hand off the operating table. After exchanging glances, he replied, “We’re fine. Functioning close to normal, actually.” As the pair came to stand before Ratchet and Pharma, his optics shot downward. A troubled expression crossed his features, though there was little about his circumstances that wasn’t troubling. “There’s energon on the floor.” 

Hastily, Pharma turned around to glance at the pink smear, then darted over to it. “Right, you two suffered a bit of energon loss. Not enough to be serious, thankfully.” After a pause, the doctor’s tone adopted a sense of urgency. “Now that you two have been repaired, it’s important that you get to the control room. Some of the crew are headed there — ” he said, tapping the side of his helm, “ — and it’s your best bet for getting back onto the  _ Lost Light  _ safely. Ratchet and I have some cleaning up to do, but we’ll be close behind.”

“Both of you are injured,” First Aid added. “I’m sure we can return the favor and get back to the crew in time.”

“He’s right, the wounds are minor enough to patch up. And it’d be safer if the four of us went — ” But Ratchet stopped Ambulon in his tracks, and made a point to turn his damaged shoulder away.

“No, no, we’ll be fine,” Ratchet said. “We’ve gone this long without anyone breaking down our doors. Making sure you two don’t get scrapped is our top priority right now.” There was a dull ache in his spark. “I really mean that.” 

Pharma had already left Ratchet’s side and was very convincingly pretending to gather up his scattered equipment. Tossing a glance over his wing, he added, “Ten minutes. If you make it to the control room and we’re not with you in ten minutes, you can tell the ship to take off without us. Here, we’ll even walk you to the door.” 

Setting down his neat little bundle of tools, Pharma gently wrapped his arm around First Aid’s shoulder and coaxed him out of the room. Ambulon followed by his side, eager not to be separated from his friend. Ratchet did the same. For the amount of trouble he went through to save their lives, he at least wanted to make sure they were getting far away from their would-be murderer. 

And to Pharma, it seemed like a show of good faith. 

After a hasty goodbye, the junior medics broke into a run and headed in the direction that Pharma had pointed. Something deep inside Ratchet wanted to say something, to grab one of them by the arm, to tell them all the things they were better off not remembering. But whatever that something was, it died the moment he felt a set of fingers intertwine with his own. 

“There, are you happy? You cleared your conscience. All you had to do was stand there, look inviting, and lie for a few minutes.” 

Ratchet shot back. There was nothing standing in his way anymore. No spark on the line but his own. “Oh, I’m ecstatic. Who  _ wouldn’t  _ want to be at the mercy of a complete megalomaniac?” 

“I’m choosing to be patient with you, Ratchet. I know you were never very good at expressing your true feelings, so I’ll humor your brazen insults. After all,” Pharma teased, “We’re going to have to learn to live with each other again.” He squeezed the combat medic’s hand tighter yet, until his joints began to creak and he was in danger of damaging a circuit. Ratchet endured, and said nothing. 

“Well, you heard what I said. We have ten minutes to get off this scrap heap before your friends get suspicious. But then again, they must be used to you suddenly disappearing on them by now.” Dropping Ratchet’s hand like it was a dead scraplet, Pharma made for the door and peeked his head out. He looked very much like a criminal, optics darting this way and that. “If we make a run for it, we should be able to get out of here before we’re missed. I happened to memorize a handful of escape routes, and Tyrest should be keeping everyone busy.” 

A million different thoughts were racing through Ratchet’s central processor. Even if he wanted to say something to Pharma, all he could manage was a stiff nod. 

“There’s just one more thing, darling.” That did it. The sickly-sweet pet name invoked long-forgotten feelings, feelings that could make his fuel pump clog up and burst. This bot was going to be the death of him. Through a clenched jaw, Ratchet responded. 

“Say it.” 

“I’ve got a nice, discreet little ship waiting for us, but before we go, I have to make a demand.” Pharma was leaning up against the bulkhead and facing him now, legs casually crossed. “Otherwise the contact who secured it for me might revoke my privileges. You understand.” 

“Say it before I change my mind.” 

Pharma let out a cold, dry chuckle. “Remember what I said about patience, hmm?” As Ratchet trudged over to him, he pushed himself off the wall and loosely threw his arms around the other’s waist. There was no passion in the embrace, even as he ran his fingers up and down Ratchet’s spinal strut. Again and again, he stroked the well-worn plates of metal. He was going to savor every last moment he’d bargained for, and both of them knew it. Pharma’s lips nearly grazed his former lover’s helm as he whispered the final condition. 

“Change your personal frequency, and do it  _ now _ .” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pharma and Tarn have a very involved conversation, and Ratchet is introduced to his temporary new home.

His audio was staticky. Far from ideal, but the connection would have to do. With how many times it took for Pharma to establish a comm link, he wasn’t about to complain about the reception. In a moment’s time, he could already hear music from over the line. This time it was a concerto, or something of the sort. He was a doctor, not a composer. 

Their calls always went something like this. When they were apart, Pharma would establish a link, usually to beg and plead for what he wanted. Then his conversation partner would pick up, open with whatever pretty song he was obsessed with on that particular day, then finally answer. As annoying as it was at times, Pharma humored it. After all, he’d just been done a massive favor. And it was a relief when that smooth, deep voice finally crept over the line and drowned out the music. 

“Pharma? Can you hear me alright?” He wouldn’t have wanted his dramatic flair to go to waste, of course. 

“It’s been too long, Tarn,” Pharma said. “I missed both of your voices very much. I wanted to thank you for securing my transport on such short notice. The whole situation with Tyrest was getting a little too hot for my taste.”

Out of habit, he tossed a glance over his shoulder plates. The hab suite was secure, and as richly appointed as Decepticon cruisers could get. Tarn himself went out of his way to decorate it, with wall hangings and ornaments done up in a style that hadn’t been popular since before the war. The recharge slab in the corner was state-of-the-art, and big enough to fit two mechs of average size. Connected to the room and behind a sealed door was a small lab, just enough for Pharma to tinker around in and prepare transformation cogs for use. And there wasn’t a single Deceptibrand in sight—Pharma’s hatred of them was well-known, even among those who wore them. All in all, the leader of the Decepticon Justice Division had spoiled him. 

Pharma was exceedingly grateful for that, as the soundproofed walls were going to come in very handy soon. 

“Anything for you,” Tarn purred. Faintly, Pharma heard clicking; he was probably tapping on his mask again. Following a moment’s pause, he added, “Tell me you managed to salvage a cog or two while you were gone.” 

“I’ve been busy, but I scraped up a few here and there. And that isn’t all. I managed to bag a pretty little Autobot, almost perfectly intact.”

The clicking stopped abruptly, and was replaced by silence. An irrational fear seized Pharma. He prided himself in doing excellent work, but it was never completely possible to tell where he stood with Tarn, and a single misstep was all the reason the Decepticon needed to snuff his spark. He wouldn’t do it over a comm link, either, no. He’d have Pharma delivered directly into his hands, and drink in every last bit of terror from him. The medic’s death would be savored as if it were the finest engex on the market. 

...Or worse, Tarn would throw him to his subordinates, and he’d be torn to scrap, or smelted down, or both in that order. He was suddenly very glad of the fact that nobody could see him shiver. But since the silence wasn’t doing him any good, he pushed his luck. 

“Are you still there, Tarn? The connection seems to have gone bad.” 

“Hm? Oh, you’ll have to forgive me, Pharma. Vos walked in and asked me a question about the…” Tarn hummed distractedly. “Anyway, what could I possibly want with an Autobot, when you can just as easily tear out the most important part and dump the chassis into space?”

Air rushed through Pharma’s vents in a wave of relief. “A _pretty_ Autobot, Tarn. And this isn’t just anyone. I just so happened to run into my old colleague, Ratchet, and I think you’ll find his talents to be quite impressive. He’s good enough to be my assistant. Or my nurse.” 

Tarn’s usual tapping resumed. He was in a good mood, most likely brought on by the fact that his addiction would be taken care of for the next several weeks. “Between you and Nickel, a third medic seems superfluous. It didn’t happen that you were too attached to him to kill him on the spot, did it?” 

As he made his way over to the recharge slab, Pharma considered the question. _How typical of a Decepticon to maim and kill everything in sight_. 

Lacing his tone with sweetness, he replied, “I got jealous of always seeing Kaon together with his lovely pet, and I wanted one of my own. Is that such a crime?” He sat down on the berth’s edge, pulled a knee up to his chest plates, and leaned up against it. This call was turning out to be longer than expected. 

“An Autobot is hardly the same thing as a sparkeater, Pharma. But if he’s useful enough to be your assistant, I’ll tentatively allow it,” Tarn said. 

“Delighted to hear it—” 

“On the condition that you keep him on a tight leash. I don’t want him out of your sight. And I expect double the usual amount of transformation cogs, now that you have help.” Several seconds of silence followed, with nothing to fill them but the tapping of Tarn’s fingers. 

Cogs, all he ever wanted was more cogs. The monotony of it would have begun to fry Pharma’s central processors by now if it weren’t for the fact that Tarn never asked much else of him. For a fanatical, poetry-reading addict, he was reasonable. So reasonable, in fact, that the medic was ready to capitalize on his good luck. 

“Naturally. You’ll never see us apart. Not even when you and I are interfacing, Tarn. Speaking of, will I have the pleasure of rendezvousing the _Peaceful Tyranny_ any time soon?” 

That stopped the tapping. 

“We’re going to be a while. Our target’s current whereabouts are still being pinned down, and I’d rather he die sooner than later. Why do you ask?” Tarn pressed. “Even with your new pet onboard, you should have enough energon cubes. When we’ve pinpointed his coordinates, I’ll—” 

So caring, so very tonedeaf. Pharma shushed the Decepticon over the line, venting just softly enough to avoid angering him. 

“Survival won’t be a problem. It’s more a case of loneliness. I want to see you again.” There was a subtle thrumming Pharma’s fuel pump, the slightest bit of pressure building behind his interface panel. He had to keep Tarn on the line.

“I know you do, but duty called. Why don’t you go into the lab I gave you and run a few experiments on… Ratchet, was it? You could entertain yourself for days on end,” Tarn replied, sounding almost apologetic. 

“Because,” Pharma sighed, “Torture is something that needs to be eased into. Maybe it’s different for Decepticons, but I’d like to get some decent mileage out of him before his spark gives out. He couldn’t compare to you, anyway.” He laid back against the berth, letting a hand rest on his damaged hip plating. “Know why?” 

Tarn had all but abandoned his cool, easy tone. “If you’re done reporting in, we should hang up. I really—” 

“ _No!_ ” Pharma all but shouted aloud. He was leaking desperation, but like any good doctor, he patched that up before it could be missed. “Your spike’s bigger than his by a long shot,” he confessed.

“That isn’t much of a compliment, Pharma. But if you’re that impatient, I suppose I could pull a few wires.” Tarn’s voice was deepening now, sinking into something far too ominous to be considered static. It froze Pharma’s fuel lines, seized at his spark and refused to let it go. Within moments could feel all of his systems fading, as if a plasma cannon had hit him dead-on. His vents weren’t functioning. He tried them again. No luck. “I must be getting complacent. You usually don’t make this many demands.”

When Pharma’s vocal processor failed to produce any meaningful sound, Tarn continued, “Ah, right. For a mech of your size, that probably hurt.” Every word was cloying, making the medic squirm on the berth like so many of his former patients. “But you needn’t worry. I can take things from here. Make a sound when you’re ready, doctor.” 

Patience was one of Tarn’s most charming qualities. In the several long minutes it took Pharma to regain control of his systems, he’d gone back to tapping away at his mask. It was something even _he_ could recognize this time: the melody of “The Empyrean Suite”, accompanied by Tarn’s own soft humming. 

Of course, he could hum the harmony at the same time. And that’s exactly what he chose to do. 

Pharma eventually managed to vent, albeit shakily. He forced Tarn’s name from his processor, drawing out each letter until the residual convulsing of his spark sent him back into silence. 

“I’m not entirely convinced,” the Decepticon replied, still holding the tune. “One more time?” 

“Ta—” Pharma’s voice broke. If Tarn were anyone else, he’d have killed him for making his systems fail like this. “Tarn…” he finished, trying to focus on his venting and keep it steady. 

“Excellent, doctor… Is ‘doctor’ not personal enough? Let’s go with just ‘Pharma’ for now.” He silenced his song, and replaced it with the unmistakable clicking and sliding sounds of a mask being removed. Tarn’s face was a well-kept secret, even to the likes of Pharma, who’d seen and felt just about every other part of the mech. Of _course_ he’d only take it off when the two of them were apart. He delighted in always keeping the Autobot yearning for just a touch more than he’d received. Being an infuriating tease was one of his least charming qualities. “Remove your interface panel for me.” 

As if Pharma needed to be told that, of all things. After all, wasn’t he the one who fought to keep the comm link open? He let his hand rove down his body, still shaking, until it reached the panel. Getting the plates out of the way turned out to be aggravating work—his fingers kept fumbling around the edges of the metal. On the third try he finally got it, spread his legs out against the berth, and waited for Tarn’s next demand. 

“Still alive over there?” 

“I don’t break that easily.” 

“Good,” Tarn replied idly. “And try to speak some more, will you? Things will get terribly dull if I do all the work. Anyway… Just for future reference, tell me what you’d want me to do to you.” 

The medic had wasted no time. He was already stroking his external node, and doing his damnedest to make sure Tarn knew it. With each repetition his venting hitched a little, filling the airwaves with his moans. His fans were already whirring away at full speed by the time he decided to stop keeping Tarn in suspense. “Aside from fragging me, Tarn? Some engex and a trip to the washracks together would be nice. You always leave me sticky.” 

Sarcasm turned out to be a poor choice. The first pinpricks of danger came when he was sliding his lubricant-soaked fingers into his valve. The Decepticon was crooning his ominous little croon again, keeping the pitch just low enough to send a second wave of pain through Pharma’s spark chamber. “I was hoping you’d say something a little more personal. What was it you said last time we were together?” They didn’t have to be in the room for Pharma to know he was tapping his chin in mock-thought. “I think it was along the lines of, ‘Please, Master Tarn, make me overload until my nervecircuits shut down’. Am I close?” 

“Close,” Pharma coughed. He’d have to check himself for popped fuel lines later. “You forgot the part where I told you to break my ceiling node.” 

“Told? You were begging me.” 

The pain was dulling just enough that Pharma could continue. Not content with the two fingers already pistoning in and out of his valve, he added a third. He knew just how to hit each sensor, which digits to curve and where. The feeling was bittersweet. His spark was erratic, his fuel pump was shuddering, and there was nothing he could do about the constant trembling of his wings. In spite of that, Tarn’s murmuring was enough to bring him to overload. All he needed was a final little push over the edge. “I’ll beg for you some more if you cut to the chase.” 

“You Autobots have such an interesting brand of slabside manner,” Tarn mused. “Even my usual medics have a certain warmth that you lack. Perhaps if you’re going to be so petulant, I’ll tear those pretty wings of yours off and let you soak in your own hot energon.” And Pharma, hanging on each syllable, driving his fingers in as far as his valve would allow, was too distracted to care. A long string of moans was already flowing past his lips for Tarn’s enjoyment. 

“Ah… More. I’m close.” The mix of lubricant and transfluid pooling between Pharma’s legs had begun to drip off the edge of the berth. 

“I’m sure you are. Maddened freaks like you can get off to _anything_ ,” Tarn growled. “Whose spike do you want, Pharma?” 

“Yours.” 

“And where do you want my spike, Pharma?” He loved the way Tarn said his name. He could bottle up the desire dripping off each sound and stow it away in his lab forever. Reeling his whole arm back, Pharma drove his fingers back into his valve, as far as they could possibly reach, until his knuckles slammed against the lips. 

“In my valve. Down my intake. Anywhere.” Static was creeping in around the edges of his voice. All composure was gone. 

“Music to my… Well, you know. Scream for me. Let me hear you.” 

That was exactly what the medic intended to do. He tapped his voice box for all it was worth, screaming a chorus of ‘Tarn, Tarn’ until all he could manage to choke out was static. The force of his overload blacked out his vision for a few precious moments, leaving him with nothing but the sensation of transfluid spilling down his hand and wrist. His wings rattled against the recharge slab when he arched his spinal strut, only to rattle when he slammed back down against it. All he could do now was put his faith in his own fans and fuel pump. 

“Excellent. Even when we’re apart, you manage to be worth your weight in shanix. It sounds like you may have blown your own systems, so unless you have any objections, I’ll leave you to enjoy a recharge cycle. I’ll be in touch, doctor.” Tarn closed the link, leaving Pharma in silence. Not that he could hear anything as his systems struggled to keep from offlining. He was nothing. He was no longer a mech, just a clever arrangement of metal parts, the perfect shape and size to be adored. Adored by someone like… 

Ratchet. Ratchet, whom he’d told to wait for him in the cargo bay while he “made a quick call”. Now was not the time to get sloppy. He had to get off this slab and drag himself down there, explain why he’d been gone for the better half of an hour. Why he could barely walk, or see, or speak, or stand upright without some part of him shaking. 

Or he could avoid it all and get a decent recharge. 

Shambling over to the control panel on the wall, he opened a link with Ratchet. Pharma had made sure that he’d given him the new personal frequency. To nobody’s surprise, the senior medic acknowledged it right away. 

“Ratchet? I’ve finished that call. Cargo bay doors will be open…” Pharma tapped away at the keypad. “Now. I trust you haven’t been waiting too long.” His voice sounded far from normal, and he knew it, but it’d have to do.

“On the contrary, I happen to love being trapped in large, empty spaces for hours on end. Almost as much as I love being trapped in them with you,” Ratchet snapped. 

“I’m sure, darling. I have some unfinished business to take care of, so for the time being you’ll just have to recharge in the spare hab suite. First unlocked door, on your right.” 

The link went silent until Ratchet accessed the suite. “I’m here—” Pharma locked the room down from the panel. “—and stop calling me ‘darling’. And explain to me why your voice is more static than Pharma.” 

“What can I say, beloved Ratchet? Your little _assault_ back on Luna I put a few of my systems into shock.” Pharma limped back to his recharge slab and all but collapsed onto it. The mess could be cleaned up some other time. 

Ratchet’s irritation was tangible. Now that was something Pharma could never get enough of. “If you wanted me to believe you, you’d have made up a better lie.” 

“Even the best of us lie to cover up our own hurt. Maybe after a good recharging I’ll let you make up for your bad behavior by taking a look at my vocal processor. And the plating of mine you so graciously damaged.” 

“Sure, it’s a date. But in exchange for patching you up, I want to know where the hell you’re taking me,” Ratchet spat. Pharma imagined that he couldn’t have sounded colder if he tried. The sarcasm was better than dead seriousness, though. It meant his old Ratchet was still very much alive. 

“Recharge well, beloved.” 

Pharma closed the comm link and rolled onto his side, minding his sore wings and bad hip. It was harder than expected to start his recharge cycle, but he didn’t try to force the matter. He had the two mechs he wanted. Tarn was nothing but a glorified leaker without him. Ratchet would come around soon enough, whether he liked it or not. No longer would he be deprived of the brilliant Autobot destined to be his conjunx. Ratchet’s true place was at his side, on his operating tables… 

… And on the far side of this berth built for two.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Various 'bots struggle with their intrusive thoughts.

The  _ Lost Light.  _ It was familiar to First Aid, and its layout was second nature. The medibay was practically where he lived, and where he’d spent the last several hours stabilizing sparks and reattaching armor. Why did the ship feel unreal to him now, like at any moment he could be torn out from inside its hull and cast out into space? Why did the distant chattering of mechs in the hallway make his fuel pump thunder? 

Experiencing fear was irrational. Yet he found himself calling out in the dark regardless. “Ambulon? Are you there?” 

First Aid heard stirring off to the side, followed by his friend’s silhouette slowly rising in the darkness. “I’m not sure why you’d feel the need to ask that, but yeah. I’m here.”  _ Not alone, not alone. _

“Do you ever feel like something’s wrong? Like everything’s been slightly off since we left Luna I?” 

“Everything on this ship feels off, First Aid, just look at who the upper management are. We’re both shaken up, but we’re booked with patients. I need to recharge.” Ambulon was already slumping back down, but First Aid was prepared to fight him for this. 

“No,” he said, “That isn’t what I mean. Everything was tolerable until we left Ratchet and Pharma for dead out there. I felt better with them here, not that things were perfect before.” 

Ambulon raised a sluggish arm and reached across their berths to pat First Aid’s hand. “I’m sure Rodimus did as good a sweep of the place as he could before we left. There’s no way he’d willingly leave them behind. But your best course of action, after you get a good recharge, is to pay Rung a visit. You need psychiatric help.”

The image of Pharma’s last smile was seared into the ‘bot’s every thought. It took every ounce of control he had to stop himself from imagining that smile being torn apart by gunfire and Legislators’ hands.  _ Why did I let us leave without them?  _

The chief medical officer—he already hated his new role—grabbed Ambulon’s hand and refused to give it back. “Nothing about this bothers you? They’re both forged, so the killswitch wouldn’t have had any effect. So unless something killed them, the crew would have found spark signatures. Or at least their medical equipment. It couldn’t have gone anywhere without them.” First Aid’s brain module was in a frenzy. He took a deep vent and tried to keep his visor on straight. 

“No equipment, Ambulon,” he went on. “Which implies the two of them could have gathered everything and made it out alive. But they’re still not on board with us.” 

“First Aid, please. If you need to see Rung, I can take you in the morning and cover for both of us. If you really want, we can ask around and see if anyone found any trace of them before the  _ Lost Light  _ left the area. What most likely happened is that someone got to them before they could get to us, and eliminated the evidence. Tyrest wouldn’t let us have our two best medics back if he could help it.” 

“ _ Listen to me _ . Listen to  _ yourself _ . We were close. We meant something to them, and them to us. There’s plenty about their story that doesn’t check out, and until I know they’re dead and their bodies are beyond salvageable, I’m going to devote whatever time I have to figuring this out. I…” 

_ But what does Pharma mean to me?  _ First Aid racked every bit of his brain module, and nothing stood out. Only fleeting fragments stood out in his memory: Pharma beaming, telling him everything would be fine, meeting him for the first time when he was still young and in training. Sure, he had plenty of memories of Ratchet, each vivid and more precious than any ‘bot could have initially realized. Everything was there, down to the subtle creak in his voice. His recollections of Pharma, on the other hand, were vague, formless, as if the doctor were merely someone he’d seen in a newscast or a dream.

He was running through his entire mental catalogue as Ambulon drifted slowly back into his recharge cycle at his side. Everything he could possibly remember was here, up until the day he was stationed at Delphi. 

“Ambulon, hold on for a bit. Please.” 

The ex-Decepticon sounded miserable. “I’m still here.” 

“What do you remember about Delphi?” 

_ “Starting today, First Aid, you’ll be reporting to me. Not that there’s much to report out here.” _ Pharma deadpanned from within First Aid’s thoughts. 

“Delphi? We were stationed there with Pharma.” 

“Yeah, and what else? How long were we there? How did we spend our days there? When did we board the  _ Lost Light  _ for the first time? Why did we?” 

Ambulon was silent for a long time. First Aid was about to give his hand a rough jerk when he finally spoke again. “I don’t remember. But it couldn’t have been more than a few months ago. Maybe even weeks.” 

“That’s my point: I don’t remember either. We’re not old mechs, Amb, we can’t chalk this up to fatigue or information creep. Something’s  _ missing _ .” First Aid let go of his friend and rolled onto his side. “I’ve heard stories. Patients say this is what it feels like when they undergo—” 

“Shadowplay. I know, First Aid. Look, we have patients waiting. The moment we’re done with that, we can ask around. See if they found anything out about Ratchet and Pharma while we were operating yesterday. We can see Rung.” 

“Not just Rung,” First Aid insisted. “We need an expert. We need Chromedome.” 

“I’m not sure he wants anything to do with us. He’s still in mourning.” 

Somewhere outside, a passing ‘bot had let out a laugh. Whoever they were with joined in a brief, gleeful chorus. First Aid buried his head in his arms and bit back a frustrated sob. “And we aren’t?” 

“We don’t know that they’re dead. Even if it’s the most likely outcome. I know it’s hard, but try to recharge if you can. It’ll make tomorrow easier.” 

Ambulon looked peaceful, calm. Or perhaps he was too exhausted from the rush of recent events. He’d shrugged things off so easily, or so it seemed. The moment the two of them re-boarded the  _ Lost Light _ , he’d begun triaging patients without needing more than a few moments to adjust and get his equipment in order. And after all this time, he’d never stopped to get a better paint job. 

“Can I sleep on your berth, just this once?” 

_ “Can you hand me that clamp, right next to you?”  _ His memories were refusing to rest. 

The ex-Decepticon’s voice was faint, as if he’d already slipped halfway into his recharge cycle. His gold optics were narrowed to slivers. “Sure.” 

First Aid slid off his own recharge slab and clambered over to his friend’s, where he laid down neatly by his side. Being a berth meant only for a single mech, the fit was more than tight. Not that either ‘bot could complain—Ambulon was already recharging by the time he got comfortable. Still, First Aid felt intrusive. Unprofessional. He’d had to invade the space of the mech closest to him just to convince himself that he wouldn’t lose this one, too. 

“Thanks,” he whispered, too quiet to compete with the sounds beyond the suite walls.

* * *

“Alright, good as new,” Ratchet said, drawing his hands away. “Move it around. Make sure it’s stuck on there properly.” 

Pharma did as he was told, though he just as easily could’ve slapped Ratchet clean across the face. “Hmph,” he said, appraising his newly-reattached hip plate. “If  _ this  _ is your best work, I could’ve fixed it myself in half the time. But—” He took Ratchet by the arm, as soon as he’d set down the welding equipment. “—you owed it to me. And I’ll consider this a little exercise in trust.” 

The stockier mech stood firm. “What, trusting that my medical expertise will always be behind yours? Do you really have to humiliate me to convince yourself of that?” 

“You know I’m only teasing.” 

“Is it teasing if you’re being sincere? But forget it. I’m inclined to ask why your spark was displaying such irregular behavior when I checked up on you. Things like that don’t happen out of nowhere, especially to a mech in your condition.” Pharma was still trying to pull him into a hug, but he was apparently doing his damnedest to ignore it. “As much as I hate to say it, you’re almost always in perfect health.” 

Eventually, Pharma abandoned his original endeavor and crept forward until he and Ratchet were chest-to-chest. “There, now who’s teasing? But that’s a bit of a long story. Lucky for you, I’ve been meaning for us to do some catching up.” 

Ratchet braced arms up against Pharma’s shoulders, forcing some distance between them. “I don’t suppose we could just cut to the chase? I know you don’t care about what I’ve been up to.” 

“No, I don’t suppose we can,” Pharma replied mockingly. “And there’s nothing you can do about that. Know why?” 

Ratchet vented. Always so exhausted, the old medic. It was practically etched into his face. “Why?” 

“Because I’m a dangerous mech, and I miss when there were no secrets between us. Now, are we going to have our chat in the lab, or are we going to have it someplace appropriate?” 

Ratchet didn’t move, except to let Pharma go.

“That wasn’t a rhetorical question, darling. Lead, and I’ll follow. The doors are unlocked at the moment.” 

On they went, and to Pharma’s amusement, Ratchet didn’t lead him anywhere near the airlock, let alone throw him out of it. Something about that spurred a tiny flutter in his fuel pump. They wandered through the hallway, with Ratchet peeking his head through the doorway of each room. Each time, the stockier Autobot had expected a trap, or a body, or something otherwise unpleasant, and every time Pharma smiled at the paranoia. Inwardly, he thanked Tarn for having the good sense not to include any Deceptibrands in his interior decorating. He’d had to convince the DJD leader to leave them out, but still.

“This room will serve,” Ratchet said finally, entering the room and settling into the chair in the far corner. 

Pharma let out a dry chuckle. “This is my hab suite, but I don't blame you for choosing the nicest place on board. I figure we’ll be in here for quite a while.” He took a seat on the edge of his own recharge slab, which he’d had to scrub down only a few hours ago. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I know how much you love bragging about all the creative and different ways you can extract a transformation cog from a corpse.” 

Pharma beckoned to Ratchet with his finger. “I’m sure you’ve heard me say it a hundred times already, but patience, Ratchet: I’m being patient. I’m going to let you keep going until you’ve run out of clever digs. Would you mind scooting just a bit closer? It’s awkward to talk from across the room like this.” 

“Why not sit over here with me, Pharma?” Ratchet shot back casually. He and the chair were the only things tucked into that corner. 

Taking the bait, Pharma rose, sidled over, and sat down on the floor in front of him in one fluid chain of movements. He’d allow Ratchet some measure of satisfaction, but he wasn’t about to give in to every last thing he wanted. That was reserved strictly for  _ Pharma _ . He crossed his legs and propped his head up on one hand to look up at his old friend. 

“You’re taller than me for once, isn’t that lovely? Sitting like this, I’m reminded of all those times we’d stand in front of the windows at the institute and look at all the lights. Remember?” 

“Yeah, I do. Is this going somewhere?” 

“Humor me. And remember how, when you had a particularly hard case, you’d always go out on the balcony? You’d look down over the rails and stare at the city streets. You’d do it for so long that I’d have to go out there and bring you back inside before your break ended. What went through your mind, Ratchet?” 

Ratchet leaned back in his chair and directed his optics toward the ceiling. “The same thing every  _ good  _ doctor thinks of, I imagine. Just hoping the patient will pull through.” 

“I wasn’t expecting such a simple answer, but maybe that’s all it is. That’s all the famed medic Ratchet ever needed, to take a step outside, collect himself, and crack a fresh smile. Speaking of smiles, what happened to that leaker you were so fond of? Did you ever fix him up?” 

For a fleeting moment, Ratchet looked surprised. The look melted away as soon as it had appeared, though. Back to his usual irritability. “Drift? You’ve seen him, Pharma. He came with me to Del—” 

“Delphi, that’s right. Ah, Ratchet, now I wish I’d cared enough to commit him to memory.” Pharma straightened his posture. “But really, I like to devote as much of my central processing as possible to  _ you. _ Remember that apartment we had in Rodion?” 

A hand—Pharma’s old hand—came to rest on his shoulder, which he happily shifted to lean his head against. It wasn’t worth being angry about anymore, now that they were back in his possession… In some capacity. 

“Remember,” Ratchet began, “When we were supposed to be talking about your condition? 

“Your concern is touching. Yet I wonder how genuine the concern really is, given how you’d rather have me sit on the floor than give up your seat.” 

“You can have the chair. I’ll take the berth.” 

Pharma clamped his hand down on Ratchet’s and dug his fingers in deep. “We should stay close together,” he hissed. He wasn’t going to transform them into anything sharp, not yet. 

“Fine. You take the berth, and I’ll move the chair over.” 

Pharma picked himself off the floor and reclaimed his place on his recharge slab. “Same destination, only it took you twice as long to get there. Make sure you pull your seat up close, because I’m not going to explain myself twice.” 

Ratchet came to sit a reasonably cautious distance away from the berth and eased back into an easy sitting position. It was the kind of posture he’d assume when listening to patients list off their symptoms, Pharma noted. It meant his attention was undivided. 

“As I’ve said, I want nothing but complete transparency between us. In order for that to happen, I had to make a few digressions. I had to, so you know just how much I want our relationship to return to the way it was.” Pharma was more than prepared to tell Ratchet not to interrupt, but the interruption never came. 

A sense of tension was creeping into Pharma’s awareness. He kept talking, to fill the dead space in the room, if nothing else. 

“When I was reassigned and you left without so much as an announcement, I was… wounded, not to sound ironic. You couldn’t even begin to understand how badly I wanted to stay around you,” he said, trying not to let the words get stuck in his vocal processor. “I would’ve performed the conjunx ritus then and there if you’d only answered my calls.” 

“You sold the apartment.” 

“I did sell it. What’s your point? Were you expecting to come back and apologize to me years later, when I returned from my stint?” 

“I—” Ratchet stammered, looking down at his lap. “I needed time to get my thoughts in order. Get my values straight.” 

“Right,” Pharma drawled. “I can’t hold too big of a grudge against you for that. Which is why I’m sure  _ you  _ can understand that I needed healing. The kind of healing that a secluded medical team on a backwater planet can’t provide. I held out hope for us for a long time, Ratchet. But eventually I couldn’t take our distance anymore, and I found fulfillment elsewhere. Maybe it’s more apt to say he found me. Our relationship was strictly business at first, as you know, but one thing led to another.” 

“You don’t mean—” 

“I mean precisely what I said.” 

Ratchet was reeling in shock. “You wouldn’t. You’ve got to be lying. Unless you became a completely different mech the moment you walked into Delphi, you’re lying to my face. You hate Decepticons more than anything, more than you hate  _ me _ . Why—” 

“Cozy up to one? Especially one who could kill me from miles away?”

In a way, watching Ratchet struggle with reconciling his preconceived notions with all this new information was entertaining. He was sitting in a chair with his hands steepled, free to move around the room as he pleased, but he was utterly trapped. Pharma afforded him a bitter smile. 

“If I wanted to lie, I wouldn’t do it to your face, darling. The easy way would be to take a quick dip into your memories and make a few tweaks. Hell, in a few short seconds, I could convince you into thinking we were conjunxes this whole time.” 

Pharma let his face settle into a cold, blank mask as Ratchet rebutted with the obvious question. “And why don’t you?” 

“Because,” the mad doctor replied, “If I were to mold you in the image of the ‘bot I’ve held in my central processor all these years, you’d cease to be my Ratchet. If I led you to believe I was completely harmless, you may try your luck at killing me and hijacking the ship—and then I’d be left with no choice but to take you offline, if Tarn doesn’t choose to do it himself. The last reason is actually very simple: I don’t  _ want  _ to hurt you.” 

It was then that Pharma found himself surprised for once. Ratchet, still shaken, had reached across the way and rested his hand on Pharma’s arm. It wasn’t tender or sympathetic; rather, it felt like it was meant to daunt him. Either way, Pharma covered it with one of his own and gave it a playful squeeze. 

“I can’t trust that,” Ratchet said. “But there’s a chance for you. There’s always a chance, and you don’t have to let Tarn do this to you any longer. You have full control of this ship, don’t you?” 

“It goes where I tell it,” Pharma responded. 

“Then if we can learn to trust each other for just a few days, we could get you out of whatever deal you made with him. There’s got to be something nearby, a sanctuary planet. A tourist trap. Someplace neutral where we can hide out and get things in order. We can decide what happens from there.” 

The sincerity of his tone made Pharma’s backstrut straighten. “Why, I’m touched,” he began, inching to the very edge of his berth. “Here I was, thinking it’d take weeks or months for you to stop hating me with every last circuit of your being. It’s only been a day and you’re trying to—” he reached forward and snaked one arm around Ratchet’s shoulders, while cupping the side of his helm with the other. “—redeem me. What changed?” 

“I switched to taking the path of least resistance,” Ratchet murmured, staring at Pharma dead-on. “My Pharma is still in there.” 

“After everything, you can still bring yourself to think that?” 

“Don’t make me start questioning it.” 

“You’re sweet, Ratchet. I’ve missed you to an embarrassing degree.” When Ratchet hadn’t pulled away or fought him back, Pharma had slipped off the recharge lab and squarely into his lap. If he minded, he certainly didn’t make it known. He wouldn’t even give Pharma the satisfaction of reacting when they were close enough to feel the air from each other’s venting. “Do you mind?” 

Their lips were all but ghosting against each other when Ratchet answered. “Get it over with.” 

“Getting it over with” was exactly what Pharma intended to do. 

The procedure was simple enough. Just a simple, chaste kiss, nothing he’d be ashamed of doing in a room full of other mechs. But it ended far sooner than he would’ve liked, so he went in for a second, then a third, until Ratchet subtly angled his head away. 

“We’re going to be here all night if you don’t stop soon,” Ratchet muttered. 

“Is that supposed to dissuade me?” Pharma’s hands were running up and down the bundle of circuits that comprised the back of Ratchet’s neck. “Surely you can forgive the excitement; it’s been years since we’ve done this.” His fingers drummed lightly against his partner’s neural cluster. 

“I just want to make sure that you’re seriously considering what I just said to you. Our lives don’t depend on Tarn’s satisfaction anymore, and that includes yours.” 

“Mm,” Pharma replied. “It’s tempting, almost to the point where I’d think it’s a trap.”  _ If done properly, he won’t feel or think a thing _ . 

“You explained to me yourself that—” 

“Yes, I know. Whether you wanted to or not, you wouldn’t hurt me, Ratchet. Nor would I hurt you… You know that, don’t you?” The needles were silent when they slipped out of his fingertips and into the vulnerable little spot right under the Autobot’s helm. 

In no more than a second, Pharma had already dug up every memory related to the mech known as Drift: every time they’d crossed paths, every time they’d spoken, or bickered, or smiled at each other. He could absorb every sordid detail, right down to the energon seeping out of the ex-Decepticon’s long-since healed wounds. Jealousy would have been the appropriate reaction, hot and bitter, but Pharma felt next to nothing. After all, he was holding Ratchet firmly in his arms. And just as neatly as he’d entered, Pharma quickly wiped the last few seconds out of his lover’s consciousness and withdrew. 

“Ratchet, are you there?” He waved a finger across the ‘bot’s field of vision. “I’m not going to hurt you, not anymore.” 

“Part of me wants to believe that. Part of me still feels a little sore around the spark casing.” Pharma wanted so badly to swoop back in and kiss that grave expression away. 

“All in the past now. If you want me to, I’ll replace your dinged up old spark casing. I’ll replace it a hundred times if it’ll keep you quiet.” 

The unwanted memories were already encroaching on his mind, as he expected them to. As easily as he could remember it from his own perspective, he could picture himself holding Ratchet’s exposed spark in his hands, scraping away at it with scalpels sharp and dull. Every ounce of pain that Pharma had wanted to see was neatly hidden just below the surface of Ratchet’s optics, and now they were finally on full display for him. 

It could make a phase-sixer shudder. 

“Then I’ve gotten through to you for the first time in a long time.”

“You have your occasional charms. Listen, as much as I’d love to stay with you right now,” Pharma said, giving Ratchet’s chest a languid stroke, “I think I should spend some time mulling your proposal over. Tarn is repulsive, but he wasn’t without his benefits. I had a steady income and a generous ration under him.” He climbed off Ratchet as if it were nothing and motioned for Ratchet to take his leave. 

“He nearly killed you last night, for the love of—” Ratchet looked as if he were about to throw the chair right as he was putting it back in its corner of the room. “Whatever he can give you, it can’t be worth sacrificing your own life  _ on top of  _ all the morals you threw to the wind.” 

Pharma clenched his fists. “We’d love for things to be that simple, wouldn’t we? If I’d had my way, Tarn’s head and body would be halfway across the galaxy from each other by now, and his putrid friends would be weeping about it. He has a warship that can track us, Ratchet. I need to find a way to throw him off long enough for us to have safe passage, if that’s even possible.” 

Ratchet opened his mouth to speak, but Pharma was far from willing to entertain whatever he planned to say. “Unless you have the solution or you’re waiting to kiss me goodbye, I suggest you leave and refrain from saying a word until I’ve called for you. Sound good, darling?” 

Ratchet took the obvious route and left his room, but not before shooting Pharma a parting remark. “It’s not too late to get your old life back.” 

“Not a damned word out of you.” 

Pharma locked the door behind him, and mentally prepared himself to dial that old, familiar frequency again.

**Author's Note:**

> Additional content warnings will be in the notes of future chapters, if and when they come out.


End file.
